


Never Say Never

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Facials, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, M/M, Non Consensual, Nudity, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 18:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Dean struggles to break the demons' hold on Sam, Sam works on breaking Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Say Never

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Non-con, abuse, torture
> 
> Author's Note: This is a Season 2 AU with a smattering of some Season 4 elements. Written for liliaeth for the spn_j2_xmas exchange. I went with the prompts _EvilSam/consortDean, stockholm syndrome and angst, hurt/comfort (albeit in a very limited, messed up way), bottomDean, non-con, Dean in general*g* and boyking Sam._

Dean didn’t recognize the hardened eyes that held him cornered. He’d seen plenty others like them, predatory as a hellhound, but gleaming with sadism that could only come from something that used to be human.

He recognized the body, but not the mannerisms as the tall, muscular form strode towards him, seeping confidence and pride. The thing’s fists were clenched while a smile played over lips curled into a sneer and still wet with the blood of demons.

Dean spit blood from his own mouth. Not demon blood, just his own.

The crimson droplets splattered over the flask of holy water that uselessly pooled over the dirty cement floor. The water hadn’t so much as tickled the thing that sent a dark gaze piercing straight through him.

His silver blade had been just as useless. It had drawn blood, but not with the reassuring sizzle of flesh. He still clutched the knife like a security blanket. There was nothing else left.

The thing crowding him against the wall wasn’t a demon or a shifter. This monster was his brother.

Sam closed in while Dean was still fighting to recover from the last blow. Large hands clutched his throat, tightening painfully around his windpipe. He stared into Sam’s eyes, inches from his own, as he tried and failed to draw in another breath.

One of his hands gripped Sam’s wrist, pleading. The other tightened around the hilt of the knife. Through the fog, he could hear Dad screaming at him to bring up the blade and bury it into his brother’s chest. He could end this here and now.

But as his body used up its last reserves of oxygen, he still recognized that ridiculously floppy hair. Even as he felt the constricting of blood-coated hands, he remembered those same hands carefully tending to his wounds. He remembered carrying that baby from the fire and promising to never let the darkness take him.

Dean opened his hand, letting the knife clatter to the floor.

~~~

Pain pulled him back towards waking. He was chilly, but the surface beneath him was soft. He wasn’t lying on the grungy warehouse floor and he was pretty sure he wasn’t dead. It had all just been one seriously fucked up nightmare and not even an unusual one these days. He dreamed of Sam going dark side far more than he’d ever admit.

His heart was still racing as he let his throbbing head sink back into the downy pillow. A heavy sigh brought an ache to his throat. No wonder he'd dreamed about being strangled. Something sure as hell had done a number on his neck.

He grimaced when his next inhale triggered a coughing fit. His eyes squeezed closed as he curled into himself and road out the pain. As he gasped to recover the lost air, a hand rubbed soothingly over his shoulders. He tried to steady his breath at the realization that he wasn’t alone.

The hand on his back moved down his side to stroke over his hip. He didn’t remember her name, but at least her being here explained why he was sprawled buck ass naked over satin sheets.

“You’re okay, Dean.”

His eyes jerked open at the voice that was more familiar than his own. He shot a look over his shoulder to see Sam perched on the edge of the bed beside him. Slowly it sunk in that his brother was sitting shirtless stroking him as if he were some kind of goddamn dog.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Dean slapped Sam’s hand away. He scrambled to sit and drew up his knees. “You wanna pet something? Play with your own ass.”

Dean reached to pull up the blankets, but there were only the sheets wrapping the mattress beneath him. His gaze darted around the room in search of the rest of the covers, his clothes or an explanation.

It looked like a hotel room, but not one of their usual roach motel dives. The large suite was spotless with paintings that had actually seen a paintbrush and furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum. Even the bed he sat on was huge with carved posts crowned with polished lion heads.

The gaudy as hell red sheets and gold lining on the room’s trim rang less of high society and more of the Playboy mansion. His thought was only reinforced when he looked up to see the large ceiling mirror that was mounted over the bed.

Awesome. He’d woken up in a damn porno. It wasn’t an unusual setting for his dreams, but it was the first time the scene included Sam on the bed beside him. It was a version he could do without.

“A honeymoon suite?” Dean asked. “Seriously? Did you even pick out your dress yet?”

Dean didn’t know whether he was asleep or awake or if it was even really Sam beside him. He’d just had enough of the silence and the creep factor of Sam watching him so damn closely while he was airing out his balls.

“You know you’re the only one who thinks you’re funny,” Sam said.

Dean’s next words caught in his raw throat when he met Sam’s eyes. There was no annoying concern or patient looks. Those usually warm hazel eyes were dark and cold and the expression smug.

Dean’s wandering gaze switched from looking for his clothes to searching for a weapon. When Sam’s hand set on his knee, Dean jumped, scrambling back to thud against the headboard.

“Dean, you need to relax.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean gripped a fistful of the scarlet sheets, staring down at them as he forced his breath steady. “And how about backing the hell off and telling me exactly what’s going on?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Clowns or midgets?” Dean rolled his eyes. “What do you think I wanna know? Why’s this look like a setup for the Brokeback version of Pussy Palace?”

“You climbed through a sewer. You smelled like shit and looked like road kill. As usual, someone had to take care of you.”

Dean looked up at his reflection. It explained why his head was muddled and everything ached. The left side of his face was swollen and a line of butterfly bandages sutured a large gash on his forehead. He looked down at his bruised knuckles, flexing his stiff fingers and swallowing his nerves before looking back at Sam.

“So you just gave me a sponge bath and my pants are at the laundromat?” Dean asked. “Thank God. And here I thought you were getting your pervy rocks off staring at my sweet ass.”

“You’re not as attractive as you think.”

He and Sam had been exchanging taunts since Sam had learned his third word, but Sam’s tone now wasn’t one of goading. It was the drone he used to ramble off useless facts.

Given that there was already enough awkward in the room, Dean got an odd bit of reassurance from Sam’s stale tone. Maybe this wasn’t what it looked like, but there was still something in the words that left him chilled. Or maybe it was what he saw in Sam’s eyes, which were roaming over all the wrong places.

Dean had half a mind to give Sam the show he deserved, but a fluttering in his gut left him on guard. He reached over and grabbed the pillow beside him, stuffing it over his lap before quirking a brow.

“Says the jealous son of a bitch who can’t stop staring.”

Sam leaned closer, propping himself up on one arm. “Do you really think gawky bowlegs, little kid freckles and girly lips are what draws those bitches to you?”

Dean sat dumbfounded on the bed. Whatever the demons had done to his brother, it had apparently turned him into a catty diva. Before Dean could shoot off a smart ass comment about sticks and stones, he caught himself glancing up at his reflection.

He pressed his lips thin, cheeks flushing beneath those goddamn freckles he liked to pretend no one could see. Sam knew he’d always hated them. It was Sam, and that teacher in the eleventh grade who’d been able to do insane things with her tongue, who’d convinced him they weren’t all bad.

Over the years, he’d kicked a lot of asses over those attributes. Right now, he’d be more than happy to add Sam to that list and show him just what these stupid legs could do with or without pants. He stopped inching away and met his brother’s stare with a glare of his own.

Dean gritted his teeth before forcing his jaw to relax. “Well, you are being a little bitch, I’ll give you that. At least I don’t have mop head and a gorilla brow.”

“Maybe you think it’s those predictable comebacks and ridiculous faces you make.”

“Have you ever even looked in a mirror?” Dean asked.

“You’re not fooling anyone, Dean. Everyone can see you for what you really are.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“Weak.”

Dean looked away, nodding to himself before looking back. “Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“Dude, I don’t know what the hell you want me to say. Just get my pants so I can knock some sense into you fair and square.”

A fist collided with Dean’s jaw before he even saw it coming. The force of the punch sprawled him sideways over the bed.

“I’m through taking orders from you,” Sam said.

Dean shook off the hit and rolled from the edge of the bed. He crouched down on the floor, putting the bed between him and Sam as he waited for the room to stop spinning.

“You’re gonna hide under the bed?” Sam stalked around as he spoke. “Typical. Just pull the sheets over your eyes and pretend everything’s all right.”

Dean glanced towards the door. It was on Sam's side of the bed. Sam might be off his rocker, but physically he seemed faster than ever. Even if Dean made it to the door, he wouldn’t make it out. It didn’t matter anyway.

Sam was in need of a serious ass kicking, but Dean wouldn’t leave him alone. This was all his fault, after all.

Sam had been acting off for weeks, practically begging for Dean to do something. All Dean had done was his damnedest to ignore it. When Sam had warned him that he felt a darkness growing inside him, instead of helping, Dean had told him to join the club.

Even when Sam had started disappearing in the middle of the night, Dean hadn’t thought much of it. The kid just needed space to come to terms with all this crap, or so Dean had told himself.

He’d been able to write everything off until he’d walked in on Sam guzzling blood straight from a demon’s veins. Everything that had happened back at the warehouse hadn’t been just a dream.

“Come on, man. This isn’t you,” Dean said. “We can still get you back to normal.”

“Normal? Normal was the problem all along. All this time denying what’s inside of me...I can’t fight it anymore. Dean, I need you.”

“Yeah, I know, Sammy.” Dean threw modesty and defense out the window. He stood and stepped towards his brother. “It’s okay. We can fix this.”

“Is it a hearing problem or are you really just that dense?” Sam asked.

“Sorry?”

“You’ve never listened.” While Dean froze, Sam moved to close the distance between them. “I need you to fall in line and play the good little soldier you are.”

Dean tensed, but stood his ground as Sam stepped in so close that his chest brushed against Dean’s. “You’re serious?”

“All our lives you’ve bossed me around and I never understood. I mean, you might be older, but I know everything you know and more. I’m stronger, I’m smarter and I finally get it. You and Dad, you were both just scared. That's why you’ve always tried to hold me back.”

“You’re thirty one flavors of crazy, you get that, right?”

Sam shoved him back with a hard hand to his chest. Dean just barely caught himself on the nightstand. He cocked a brow at the thing who might be hopped full of demon blood, but who still just looked like his annoying little brother.

“Face it, Dean, you were only ever as good as the orders you were given. Dad’s dead and you need someone to take his place. Now get on your knees.”

Dean would’ve laughed. It was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard, but the look on Sam’s face said he was dead serious.

“No.” Dean straightened back up and took a step forward. “And if you say another word about Dad, the next ‘order’ you give is gonna be through broken teeth.”

“I’m not asking you again.”

“And I’m not doing it. You want a beat down? Go ahead and try to get me on my knees, but nothing you do is ever gonna get me crawling around on my belly worshiping your crap demon army. That’s what this is about, right? You taking your place as leader of the misfit toys or whatever the hell.”

“I’m leading an army,” Sam said. “This is happening with or without us. At least this way we’ll have some control.”

“Bullshit. You can’t seriously be asking...”

“All I’m asking is that you trust me,” Sam said. “Show me the respect you showed Dad.”

“You haven’t earned it. You wanna know why Dad trusted me and not you? Because you come up with stupid ass calls like this.”

Dean ducked the punch to his face, but Sam caught him in the gut. The air was forced from his lungs and Dean was left doubled over. The next punch caught him in the temple. His knees buckled.

Sam was standing over him, running his mouth. Dean couldn’t make out the words as he knelt propped up against the bed. His head dropped to his chest as he watched the blood drip from his nose to splatter over the white carpet. All he could make out of the fuzzy room beyond the crimson stains was his brother’s shadow looming over him.

He waited until Sam was stooped above him before he surged up, knocking Sam back. Sam caught his second punch, twisting his arm behind his back. He gripped it hard, shoving Dean forward, throwing him face down on the bed. His head swam and he wasn’t sure which way was up. He swallowed down nausea as he tried to crawl away.

Dean didn’t find the edge of the bed before Sam’s weight settled down on top of him. His brother straddled him, pinning him in place. A hard hand on the back of his neck forced his face down into the mattress.

He’d wrestled and sparred with Sam since his little brother could walk. First it had just been play, Dean always letting Sam win. Then the kid had hit his growth spurt and the fights had become a challenge. A few times they’d even been real, but never like this.

Sam was smothering him against the sheets, holding him hard enough to bruise. Not long after he heard a zipper being pulled, something hot and slick rutted against the inside of his thigh.

Dean panicked, throwing his free elbow back to try to hit something tender. Sam didn’t seem to notice as Dean twisted desperately, trying to squirm from beneath him. He bucked when his legs were kicked apart.

Sam’s larger body lay over his, one hand pinning his arm, the other squeezing his ass. The weight on his chest made it impossible to draw in enough air. Dean gasped in quick, shallow breaths.

“I can take anything I want from you,” Sam said. “Or you can make this easier on us both and just give it to me.”

“Go to hell,” Dean panted.

Dean would do nearly anything for his brother, but he’d never kneel for anyone. He wasn’t even sure what the thing holding him down was. All he could do was bite down on the sheets as it tore inside him.

~~~

The ropes abraded Dean’s skin every time he shifted. All he could do was rock where he lay, still naked and hogtied on the floor with his hands and feet bound above him. The stiff carpet was scratchy against his aching back, his arms and legs numb.

He ached in ways even he hadn’t known it was possible to hurt. It still burned inside. His breath hitched, but he choked it down. He felt sloppy and soiled, fighting like hell to bury everything that lay deeper than the exhausted muscles and torn flesh. The physical he could deal with. The rest would just have to take a number. Right now, he had to find Sam and get the hell out of here.

The heat of the sun’s rays shining through the window warmed him even as the early spring breeze brought a chill that rose goose bumps over his exposed flesh. From his vantage point on the floor, all he could see out the window was clouds lazily crawling across the sky. Right now crawling wasn’t even much of an option for him and Sam had obviously known it because he hadn’t bothered to restrain him to anything other than himself.

Outside, he could hear birds singing and leaves rustling in the trees. He couldn’t hear traffic. Wherever they were, it was off the beaten path. He’d only heard the occasional set of footsteps out in the hallway. They were guards, not guests. He’d seen the pits of their black eyes the last time Sam had opened the door to leave.

Dean craned his neck in search of anything that could get these damn ropes free. The lamp looked like it had a ceramic base, shattering it would be loud, but no one had come last night when he’d screamed. It might break with a shard large enough to use, but before he could move towards it, he caught the glint of a dagger resting on the edge of the nightstand.

“Sloppy, Sammy,” Dean mumbled beneath his breath.

It was clear across the room, but it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do than try for the world’s largest rug burn. At least it would give him a different pain to focus on.

Dean tipped over onto his side and dug his toes into the fibers of the carpet for traction to turn his body in the right direction. With the first scoot of his hips he only barely stopped himself from crying out. He lay on his side, gasping at the residual pain that pulsed through his insides.

He gritted his teeth and scooted again. His eyes blurred, but he continued the tortuously slow progress. The friction heat from dragging over the carpet wasn’t nearly so distracting as he’d hoped, but quickly enough he got used to the tearing pain.

He inched along beside the bed, which had a clean set of sheets. Clean from his blood and brother’s come. Dean swallowed down the sick taste in his mouth.

He’d been there. He’d felt it, hell, he could still feel Sam’s weight pressing him down and tearing him open. But he still didn’t believe it. Maybe it had happened, but it sure as hell hadn’t been Sam.

When he had to stop to rest, he looked up at the mirror and the trickled smear of blood he was leaving streaked over the pristine, white carpet. Dean pushed down the thought of where it was coming from, took a breath and scooted the last couple of feet.

He lined himself up with the leg of the stand opposite the dagger and reached out to give the nightstand a shake. There was a loud creak as his fingers gripped the polished wood. At first, he thought he was making the noise, but then he realized it was the door.

If he hadn’t been bleeding out, he could’ve tried to hide under the bed, but there was a clear trail leading right to him. Sam followed it, rushing over before Dean could sort out a plan and just in time to catch the knife as it was about to fall. Sam stuffed it back behind the lamp before crouching over him. Dean looked away, biting his lip as Sam’s hands ran over his skin to check him over.

Sam’s hand felt cool against the heated skin of his side. “Look what you did. What you made me do...”

Dean struggled against the ropes as Sam’s fingers trailed down the crease of his ass. He hissed, clenching against the intrusion as one of the fingers pressed against his bloody hole, circling before pulling away.

“I thought you’d at least have the sense to stay where I put you.” Sam leaned further over him as he sucked the blood from his finger. “What’d you really think you’d accomplish?”

Sam rocked back when Dean said nothing. He was too afraid of what his voice would sound like, too busy just trying to breathe.

“You’re not ready, I get that.” Sam set his hand on Dean’s stomach when it rumbled. “I know you’re hungry and tired. You don’t have to make this so hard. You can get dressed and come downstairs right now with me for lunch.”

Dean squirmed to try to dislodge Sam’s hand. “You really think a cheeseburger is gonna do it?”

“Eventually. When you’re hungry enough. You don't exactly excel at higher thinking.”

“I’ll be dead long before I’m hungry enough to eat with your demon pals.”

Sam nodded as he stood. “Maybe, but I think even you can get this before then.”

“Why don’t you untie me then we’ll see who gets it?” Dean called after Sam.

His brother had already disappeared into the bathroom. The water ran before Sam came back with a towel. He knelt down in front of Dean and ran the moist cloth between his thighs, rocking him to the side to wipe the blood from his ass. Dean didn't watch, tried not to feel it at all. 

“I’m not gonna fight you, Dean.”

“’Cause you know you’ll loose.”

“No, because you’re too good at taking a beating. You’d let me beat you to death or bleed you dry...” Sam reached over to grasp the knife. Dean shivered as the flat side of the cold steel was drawn up his leg. “But you have your weaknesses and I know every one of them.”

“You son of a bitch, you’re not him.”

“Wrong as always. I’m me, Dean, and I need you to understand that.” Sam slid the knife into his back pocket and wrapped his arms around Dean’s bent body, lifting him up and dropping him onto the bed as unceremoniously as a bundle of laundry. “You’re not the big brother anymore. I need to know that you’re with me, that you’ll fight by my side, follow my orders.”

“Fuck you."

“We can start there.”

Sam slid the knife between the ropes to saw free the loop that secured Dean’s hands and wrists together. His legs flopped down onto the bed and his arms fell over his head, too exhausted to move. Ropes still remained around his ankles and wrists. When Sam grasped his feet, Dean kicked out, catching Sam in the chest.

He didn’t get anywhere before Sam straddled him, his back to Dean’s face as he worked the rope from Dean’s ankles. Dean beat on his back with bound fists as Sam spread his legs wide, binding them to the posts of the large bed. His hand ran up Dean’s inner thigh.

“Is that what you want?” Dean rasped, as Sam settled his weight back on his chest. “Is this some repressed Deliverance shit? Sammy, if you’re really in there—”

“I don’t want you, Dean.” Sam climbed off the bed and grabbed Dean’s wrists, shoving them down against the mattress as he stared into Dean’s eyes. “But every part of you is mine and the sooner you admit that, the sooner this ends.”

The moment his wrists were cut free, Dean sat up and grabbed for the dagger. Sam slammed a fist into his face. A sharp pain exploded in his head, bringing a wave of darkness.

By the time his eyes fluttered open, his arms were bound tightly to the posts. He tried to turn his head to spit out the blood that pooled in the back of his mouth, but couldn’t. He swallowed, the metallic tang coating his tongue.

Dean looked up into the mirror to see that Sam had hitched his belt through the slatted headboard to loop beneath his chin. It locked his head in place so he could only look up into the mirror.

“If you don’t want to follow me, that’s what you’ll be stuck with,” Sam said as he pointed up at the reflection. “Alone.” Sam walked around the bed, checking the knots. “You’re staying right here until you figure out that you’re not running this show anymore. Until you ask for it, beg me for it.”

Dean would shoot them both long before he begged for anything.

~~~

“Sammy, please...”

The words weren’t so much English as a desperate gasp of air. Dean’s entire body trembled. His wrist and ankles stung, were sticky with blood from where he’d worn through his skin trying to break free.

By now, he was too exhausted to fight the restraints. His chest hurt from the beating of his heart and the struggle to pull in enough air. The belt still secured his head and his jaw ached from the strain of trying to look anywhere but at the man on the ceiling.

He was spread there shaking, muscles strained. His flushed cheeks were wet, lashes matted around bloodshot eyes with sunken circles beneath them. His hair was soaked with sweat. He was stretched taught, bruised belly slick with come.

Sam kneeled at the foot of the bed, settled between his legs. Every sharp tug on his tender cock jerked his restrained legs. Sam’s fingers circled and pinched the swollen head. Every touch of Sam’s fingers grated like sandpaper over the tenderized skin.

He couldn’t see Sam’s face, but knew his brother was watching him. He’d given up trying not to react. His body had already betrayed him more times than he could count. He was riding the wave of a dry orgasm that ripped pain, not relief, through his body. There was nothing left to come.

“Goddamn it, just stop.”

Sam leaned forward and took Dean’s half-hard cock again into his mouth. His lips glided over the raw shaft while his fingers idly twisted his balls as if he were bored.

“Fine,” Dean whispered. “Just do it.”

Sam slid his lips down one last time before raising his brow. “Do what?” 

“Just fuck me already.”

Dean closed his eyes and tensed, waiting for the burn. Instead the mattress shifted and he felt Sam’s hard erection dragging up his belly as his brother crawled up until he straddled his shoulders. Sam still wore jeans and a t-shirt, but his pants were unbuttoned and his straining cock was free of his boxers. Sam pumped it before slicking the pre-come over Dean’s wet cheeks.

“I’m not going to fuck you, Dean.”

Dean stared up at him in confusion. He’d thought it was what Sam had wanted to hear. His brother had left him for days. Dean didn’t know how many, but he couldn’t risk Sam leaving again.

“I only wanted you to say it,” Sam said. “I can take whatever I want whenever and wherever I want, but I'm not going to now, not like this. You’re still torn up...Dean, I never wanted to do that to you. I just need you to see what you are.”

The tip of Sam’s cock traced over his trembling lips. Dean couldn’t turn away so he opened his mouth to give Sam what he wanted. It wasn’t like it mattered anymore. He ran his tongue over the hardened cock, swirling around the head, mimicking what Sam had done to him.

Sam slapped his cheek. “Look at yourself.”

Dean hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes. He reluctantly followed the order. A fresh set of tears rolled down his cheeks. Fucking cry baby.

The pulsing cock pulled free from his lips to spurt come over his face. It splattered into his mouth, stung his eyes and the cuts on his face. Acid in the back of his throat mixed with the salty, bitter taste. Asphyxiating on his own vomit sounded pretty damn good right now.

Sam slid off the bed, leaving him alone to stare up at the useless, dirty mess tied to the bed. Every nerve in his body still felt like it was on fire, but he was more concerned about where Sam had gone.

He felt hint of relief when Sam came back into view with a towel and ice bucket. He set the bucket on the nightstand, dipped in the towel and rang it out. It was warm and wet when Sam wiped it over Dean’s cheeks and dabbed the blood from his nose and lips.

After he cleaned his face, Sam set the towel aside to unbuckle the belt from his jaw. Dean's neck was too stiff to turn so he left his head where it was and just flexed his jaw. His breath caught in his throat as Sam's hands set on his shoulders. He slowly relaxed when his brother's hands didn't choke him. The strong fingers only worked on rubbing the knots from his rigid muscles.

Dean's neck could turn by the time Sam stopped the massage. He let his head fall to the side against the mattress as he watched his brother out of the corner of his eye. Sam moved on to wipe the towel over his stomach. 

“Why’re you doing this?” Dean asked.

“You’re dirty.”

“No, I mean, why’re you...you said you didn’t want me.”

Sam patted Dean’s thigh and stood. “Before? No. But you’re the only one I can trust. We’re all each other has and your dick’s the only way to get past your thick skull.”

Sam cut free the binds at his ankles. With a fresh towel, he wiped away the blood, patting carefully against the stinging skin. Dean didn’t try to kick this time, only lay still, as Sam bandaged the torn flesh.

“I’m going to leave the wrists for now,” Sam said as he walked towards the closet.

Dean was too distracted with trying to remember how to move his legs to really care that his wrists were still bound. They pricked with pins and needles as he wiggled his toes, but he forgot about even that as Sam laid a blanket over him.

It was the first time he’d been covered since waking up in this hellhole. It was his first chance to be warm and to have something between him and Sam. His brother still touched him, resting his hand on his aching stomach, but it was through the layers of the blanket. It was better.

“When you’re ready, you can come down for dinner,” Sam said.

The words brought relief until reality settled in. Sam had already laid it out. This wasn’t just dinner with Sam. It was Sam and his demon soldiers and Dean couldn’t do that. He could barely deal with just his brother.

“Thanks, but I’ll hold out for room service.”

Sam shook his head. “You can eat when you’re ready and when you really ask for it. You’ve said it once, it’ll be easy to say it again.”

“Take what you want, but I'm not asking for it." Dean bent his legs just to test them out before meeting Sam's eyes. "And unless you want me leaving your ass, you better pack your bags. First chance I get, I’m out of here.”

“You won’t leave. I know you’d never endanger Bobby by going to him and you got nowhere else to go.” Sam clamped his hand on Dean’s shoulder and for a second he saw his Sam looking down at him. “Just get some rest, Dean.”

~~~

Dean woke up alone. Again. He’d stopped wondering where Sam went. It wasn’t as if he really wanted to know.

It had been some time since Sam had last touched him and a few nights since he’d taken off the wrist restrains. Most everything had stopped hurting. Except for his stomach. He was so fucking hungry. His hands were jittery and it seemed too much work to stand from the bed.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there beneath the weight of the mirror before he pushed aside the sheets and threw his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet settled into the carpet as he leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

His exhaustion wasn’t any less than it had been when he’d passed out, whenever that had been. He glanced down at his bare wrist where his watch used to be. Sam had taken it at some point and there were no clocks in the room. 

He should probably be taking a page from those prison movies, scratching the days on the wall in an inconspicuous spot and spending his waking hours doing push ups or running in place or some pointless crap. Maybe he would, if it didn’t take more energy than he had.

He could feel the strength seeping from his body with only the exertion of standing. The long legs of Sam’s sweats pooled over his feet as he trudged to the bathroom. There were no cups, but there was running water. He bent forward and tipped his head to the side beneath the faucet, letting the cool water run into his dry mouth.

The only light spilled in from the other room. In the dim bathroom, he could still see the man in the mirror, this time right in front of him. He clenched his fist as he stared down the worthless bastard. The man who couldn’t stand up to his brother, couldn’t save him.

Dean’s fist cocked back and hit the son of a bitch square in the nose. Pain radiated up his arms as spider webs of shattered glass crawled across the mirror.

His chest heaved as he stood waiting, listening. There were demons in the hall just behind the door. He rarely saw them, but he heard them. The door was unlocked because Sam knew better than to think locking it would make a difference. The window didn't need to be watched because they were on the seventh floor. High enough for a fall to kill.

Dean would rather go out fighting, but as he stood silent, no one came. He’d take the fight to the guards only he knew they wouldn’t kill him. They’d just hold him until Sam came as if he were some bratty toddler acting out at daycare.

He clutched his aching fist then shook out the pain, wishing it was more. He couldn’t fight anything like this, wanting to smash his own bones just to escape the hunger pangs and how epically he’d fucked up.

He jumped, spinning around, fists clenched as music cut through the silence. Dean fumbled for the light switch as soon as his addled mind identified the sound of his own ringtone.

His phone lay on the counter beside the wall where it was plugged into the charger. He hadn’t seen the thing since the warehouse.

Dean looked around, waiting for the punch line. The suite’s door was still closed and everything else around him so quiet that the phone sounded deafening, like everyone in the entire hotel could hear it. He answered it just to stop the noise and held it loosely beside his head.

“Dean?”

His breath stilled. It was Bobby’s voice and that it could be here didn’t register. The world had collapsed down to this room, to Sam and hunger and shame.

“Dean, you there?”

He stared at the phone before tentatively pressing it to his ear. The question was straightforward enough, but he couldn’t grasp the answer. He was still waiting for the ground to drop out from beneath him.

“Uh...yeah?”

“Where’ve you been, you damn idjit? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for two weeks!”

Dean started to try to do the math in his head, but couldn’t separate the days or nights. Right now, he couldn’t even remember how many days were in a week.

“Sorry.”

“What’s wrong, son?” Bobby asked.

The concern in his tone sounded syrupy sweet compared to Sam’s cold sympathies. At least Sam was starting to express sympathy again.

Bobby continued when Dean failed to find the words, “Did you...did you find Sam?”

“Yeah.”

“And? Talk to me, kid.”

Dean shrugged, leaning back against the counter for support. “He’s already getting better.”

“Better than what? Wait...you’re with him? Where are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“How in the hell can you not know? You in trouble? Is Sam—”

“No! Damn it, Bobby. I just...did you find anything?”

“About what’s going on with your brother? Dean...that thing may not be your brother anymore.”

“He is. Just keep looking." Dean's fingers tapped anxiously against the counter. "And, Bobby? Don’t call me again. It’s...just don’t. I’ll call back if...”

Dean ended the call, dropping the phone back to the counter when he heard the door open. He stepped out of the bathroom, freezing in the middle of the room as Sam approached with his head held high and eyes curious.

“Who’re you talking to?” Sam asked as he stepped in closer. His shoulder brushed against Dean’s while he walked a circle around him.

“No one.”

“No one named Bobby?” Sam asked.

Dean’s heart beat faster. He didn’t know how much clout Sam had managed to muster with these demons, but he realized now he should have warned Bobby. He couldn’t let them go after him.

Right now, he was sucking too bad with words and Sam had always been able to see right through him anyway. Dean lowered himself to his knees. Even he didn’t know if it was a distraction or surrender.

Sam grasped his chin, tipping his head up. “It’s okay, Dean. I trust you.”

Dean’s shoulders sagged with relief and exhaustion. He watched as Sam pulled the Colt from the back his pants and set it on the dresser less than two feet away. Assuming that Sam hadn’t used it, there was one bullet left. It was either one bullet too many or one too few.

The sound of a zipper pulled his attention back to Sam. Dean stared at the open fly of his brother’s pants. What Sam wanted was clear enough from the growing bulge in his boxers.

Dean’s fingers twitched before he nodded. It took him a couple tries to get back to his feet, only making it because Sam reached down to help him, patting him on the shoulder as if it were any other day.

Dean walked stiffly to the bed. He didn’t even know how to do this or how Sam wanted him and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask because doing it was easier than being made to say it. He stood facing the bed with his hands on the elastic of the sweatpants. He pushed them down past his hips, letting them pool to the floor. His cheeks flushing redder the longer Sam let him just stand there waiting.

“I’ll bring you some dinner tonight,” Sam said.

Dean shook his head, without looking back at Sam. “No, I’ll come down.”

He should be out there with his brother. Whatever the hell Sam was doing, someone should have his back. He just had to be out there period. He couldn’t fight an enemy he didn’t know. Dad had taught him better than this. He’d just been too full of his own damn pride to be doing his job.

Sam came up behind him, a smile on his lips. “We can win this together.”

“Win what?” Dean asked hoarsely, tensing as Sam’s hand closed around his arm.

“Does it matter?”

It didn’t. Not anymore. No matter what happened, he’d never leave Sam.


End file.
